My father is an ass. He’s demanding and overbearing. He thinks women belong in the home cooking, cleaning, and raising babies. My mother is a weakling. She does his bidding and lets him control everything, including finances.

At eighteen, I left home and never returned. I swore I wouldn’t live that kind of life. I’ve dated and had sex, but I’ve never let anyone control me.

And now look at me. I’m lying in a playpen. I’m wearing a diaper, and I’ve been coerced into eagerly sucking from a bottle on a regular schedule in order to avoid the threat of that wicked clamp Dankin introduced to Papi.

That stupid clamp sits on a shelf next to my changing table so that every time I’m strapped to the table, I’m forced to look at it while Papi changes me. It’s a constant reminder.

I’m so fucked up and twisted that Papi has no understanding about why I avoid that clamp. Sure, I drain every bottle so he won’t use it on me, but it’s not because I don’t want him to attach it to my titty. It’s because I do.

I remember what it felt like well because for me it was only five days ago. When I close my eyes and go into my head, I can still feel the biting pain I felt when Dankin clamped my titty with that evil device.

The pain was grounding. Yes, it shocked me and scared the hell out of me at first, but minutes after it was removed, I was still reeling from the effects. He’d only left it dangling from my bud a few seconds, but it was long enough for me to feel the weight of it tugging on my swollen nipple.

It was long enough for me to never forget.

It was long enough for me to crave that sharp pain every time I glance at it.

It’s so embarrassing, and I never want Papi to find out. It’s a catch twenty-two because if I refuse a bottle in order to get him to torture my titty, he would know I did it on purpose because with each passing day in which I get no relief for my growing arousal, I’m more likely to come the second it grips me.

I suck harder on my pacifier, which is another thing that infuriates me. I’m addicted to it. Sure, I’m using it to avoid talking, but I also suck it hard nearly all the time. It takes my mind off the constant ball of need in my tummy, my tingling hard titties, and my throbbing pussy.

When I’m awake, I squirm constantly. Hopefully Papi thinks it’s because I’m acting my part of Baby girl, but it’s really because I’m trying to rub my pussy against the diaper.

There’s never enough contact, though. I can’t get what I need by attempting to grind my clit against the soft material, and my legs won’t come together enough to put pressure on my pussy.

The power of our bond is very strong. Denying it is impossible. He doesn’t need to pierce me with his quill for me to feel the magnetic connection. I want him. I want him inside me. I want to feel the weight of him on top of me. I want to suck his cock and swallow everything he offers me.

My need to be smothered by him is so profound I can’t stand it. Why can’t we just be two people who can’t stand to be parted and fuck like bunnies all the time? Why must I be expected to submit so deeply in order for him to give me the affection we both crave?

He’s sitting at the kitchen table working. I don’t even know what he does for a job. I’ve never asked. He didn’t tell me before we left Earth, and the only information I’ve gotten out of him since then has been what he volunteers. I certainly haven’t asked questions, though I have many.

When he finally stops working, closes his computer, and comes to check on me, he frowns. “You’re not going to get stronger and be able to walk around if you don’t try, Baby girl. I thought you were feistier than this.”

He’s got a point. Part of me knows I’m only hurting myself by being so obstinate. But I’m holding out. It’s all I have in a game I can’t win.

He moves the mobile out of the way and carefully lifts me into his arms, making sure my head is supported by his hand. I’m certain I can hold my head up on my own, but I don’t even try.

My tummy grumbles, and I know it’s time to eat, but he surprises me by lowering me into a bouncy seat. He’s put me in it a few times, but not when he’s going to feed me. He always feeds me cradled in his arms.

Why am I disappointed? I should be glad he isn’t going to be touching so much of me. My need for him is so much stronger when he holds me and off the charts when he rolls me forward so my naked breasts rub against his warm pecs.

Papi parts my legs wider than necessary and pulls a thick padded flap up between them before buckling me in at the waist on both sides.

I kick and squirm and arch my chest. My breathing grows labored every time he restrains me even in a situation as simple as this one. I’m so needy that I barely have the wherewithal to keep from grabbing my nipples. I’m not strong enough to leave them alone altogether, though. I press my biceps inward, squeezing my breasts.

Papi lifts a brow. “What did I say about playing with your naughty little tittles, Ava?”

I gasp. He said he would spank me. Right now, that sounds like heaven. For one thing, it would mean releasing me from the bouncy seat. For another thing, it would mean removing this stupid diaper—at least long enough to swat my bottom.

I crave the contact. I want his palm on me. I want to feel the pain. I hope he’s not gentle. I’m literally bouncing in the stupid bouncy seat out of excitement.

Instead of unfastening my waist, Papi picks up my wrists and pulls them over my head. A second later, he wraps a thick padding around them and attaches it somewhere behind the bouncy seat.

I stop breathing. What’s he doing? My arms are stretched so tight up behind me that my breasts are forced high. They literally ache from lack of contact. I’ve gained some weight from Papi’s constant bottle feedings, and my breasts are tight and heavy.

Papi leaves me like this and walks away, leaving me twisting my head around, craning to see what he’s doing, but I can’t see behind me. All I can see is my biceps.

When he returns, I’m panting. He’s holding a small wooden spoon, and he plucks the pacifier from my mouth so fast I don’t have time to clamp down on it and make it difficult for him.

He lowers to his knees between my legs and leans over me, planting his palms on either side of my bouncy seat. “Little girls need a lot of rules, and so far, I’ve only told you one. Which rule did Papi give you, naughty girl?”

I purse my lips and squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t know what he’s going to do with the spoon, but my curiosity is piqued more than it’s ever been. Instinct tells me he will never injure me. The same instinct tells me he’s going to be firm and demanding for the rest of my life.

The tight ball in my tummy is flipping around. I try to pull my legs together, but they won’t budge. They’re forced wider than usual by the thick flap between them. I can feel my pulse beating in my nipples.

“Let’s go over a few more rules just to get that out of the way. One, no running in the house. Two, no climbing on furniture for any reason. You will keep your feet on the floor unless Papi picks you up to sit on the couch or a chair. You won’t be left unsupervised on any furniture. Three, no standing in your crib or climbing out of it. Four, no standing in your playpen or climbing out of it. Five, no opening the front or back door without Papi unless the house is on fire. Six, no masturbating. That means no playing with your titties or your pussy. I know it feels good, but Papi decides when you deserve to feel pleasure.”

My breathing is shallow as I try to remember everything he’s said. I’m not going to be able to, and I can’t believe how strict he intends to be. It’s maddening. Furniture? I can’t even sit on the couch? I glance over at it.

Papi follows my gaze. “It’s too high, Little one. Papi’s furniture isn’t safe for you to climb on without supervision. You might fall and get hurt.”

I have about a million arguments, but he’s cornered me while I’m in my silent stage. Damn him.

“Yesterday I insisted on you saying one word to avoid going to the doctor. Today, I’m going to require two words, and I’m going to make it easy on you. I’ll provide the two words. They are yes, Papi. Now, did you understand my rules?”

I swallow. “Yes, Papi.”

He smiles. “That sounds so nice. Did I tell you what would happen if you played with your titties?”

“Yes, Papi,” I whisper.

“Did I say I would spank you?”

“Yes, Papi.”

“Did I say I would spank your bottom?”

I hesitate, thinking. He did not specify my bottom. Shoot. And no isn’t one of my words, so I shake my head.

He chuckles. “You are a very sharp Little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Papi.” This earns me a bigger laugh from Papi.

He picks up the wooden spoon. “If you can’t keep from touching your nipples, it’s only fitting that Papi should spank your naughty buds, isn’t it?”

I lick my lips.

He waits, brow raised.